The Aftermath

Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you doing?"

I'm fine.  I'm terrified.  I'm grateful for God's hand.  I'm horribly sad.  I'm in physical and emotional pain.  I'm scared to death to see an infant at church this weekend.  I'm sick of people tiptoeing around me.  I'm tired.  I'm ready to go back to work.  I'm ready for a drink.  I'm determined to get in shape before I get pregnant again.  I'm not looking forward to receiving my package from Old Navy of maternity clothes I had ordered last week.  I'm hopeful.

It's so strange to be surrounded by blooming trees and flowers in the spring sunshine.  Part of me just wants to scream.  Don't they know my baby died?  How can people be walking around the streets?  The other part of me is glad to be reminded that life begins again.  Our daffodils are blooming in front of our house.  Their sunny faces look toward the sun and encourage me to do the same.  Our God is a God of new beginnings, of hope, of redeeming the painful and broken places in our lives.

I met with the doctor and she told me that I would not need further procedures.  I am so grateful for that.

My mother in law took me to my doctor's appointment.  On the way, she asked me if I believed that God never gives us more than He thinks we can handle.  I replied that I don't think God gives me anything that He can't handle.  I'm not standing on my own feet right now.  I can't.  There's no way I could have enough strength to go through this, even with our friends, family and my doctor and nurses.  He is holding me up.  It's His strength I'm running on.

I haven't yet graduated to wearing non-waterproof mascara, but today is better than yesterday.